The slap came out of nowhere and hard enough for Hank’s head to jerk back. “You’re an asshole,” Hya hissed.
Hank placed a hand over his cheek. Fuck, that woman had a hand on her. Rubbing his burning cheek was when Hya broke it. She snapped the last string that was holding Hank together. He backed up against the fridge and sunk down to his ass. Bringing his knees up, he put his elbows to them and held his head in his hands. Closing his eyes thinking it would be the barrier to stop them, it didn’t, the tears that sat there every second of the day let loose. “I just want it to stop hurting,” he said in whispered words.
Hya hunched down in front of him, her voice soft. “You’re not the only one hurting, Hank. And if that’s truly what you want, she’s leaving town for you, leaving the life she started here because she’s brought you enough pain. In time, maybe it will stop hurting. But you should know. Your mother visited her after talking to you. Came to gloat. Arissa is barely holding it together and your mother stuck the knife in deeper and twisted it. You’re right to be pissed, but your anger is directed at the wrong person.”
“I know,” Hank muttered, lifted his head and looked at Hya. The woman that caused him the most shit in his town, gave him a run for his money the past eight years he was the sheriff, was the one helping him pick up the pieces of his fucked up life. Out of the blue, Hank uttered, “I should shower.”
Hya offered her hand. “You do that and I’ll clean up this shit, start a pot of coffee, make you some eggs.”
Hank took her hand, but held it tightly. “I’d like that,” he told her softly and with meaning because he did mean it. His number one crazy was here, in his house helping him. Where were his parents? Why wasn’t his mom barging into his house, smacking him around with words then literally smacking him to get a grip on it all…where was she? The alcohol was still flowing nicely through Hank’s veins, so it wasn’t the logical part of Hank Weathers that spoke next. “You know what, I’m gonna give you a statue, right on Main Street.” He looked in the distance only seeing what was playing out in his mind; he waved a hand. “Can you see it, a life-sized Hyacinth Delacroix looking over Main Street?”
“As long as it’s a nude, Sheriff. That will send our tourist industry into the black for life.” She caught his eyes and despite the teasing, sincerity burned there too. “Don’t need a statue, though. It’s what friends…” She paused then corrected. “Family does. And like it or not, Sexy, I’m in your family.”
Hank put a hand to Hya’s cheek, feeling the smooth aging skin underneath it. “Then if you’re family, Hya, we can’t fuck, it’s illegal.”
Hya held his stare for a second, a lot said without words, then she cackled. “Since when do I follow the rules?”
Hank’s lips tipped up, the sensation feeling somewhat foreign since he hadn’t smiled in three days. “True.”
* * *
Hank was fresh out of the shower, a razor to his face when he heard the vacuum kick on. He smiled. Then as quickly as it turned on, it turned back off followed by a cursing Hya complaining that he hadn’t cleaned out the vacuum in ages. He chuckled, and continued shaving. The three glasses of water Hya had him drink and the cold shower had helped clear away some of the alcohol-soaked cobwebs in his head. He finished up, threw on a pair of jeans and a tee and went downstairs.
“Fuck, that smells good,” he muttered while walking into the kitchen to find Hya at the stove. Looking around, he saw that she had cleaned up all the shattered glass and bottles.
Hya looked back as Hank entered the kitchen, then turned to study him, a little smile on her lips because he was looking more like the sheriff she loved. “You’re looking better,” she said, and then gestured to his phone. “But that fucking thing hasn’t stopped ringing. Either answer it or I’m sending it where all the fucking broken bottles went.”
He smiled and moved to the island to retrieve his cell. Looking at the screen, scrolling through the numerous notifications, he told her. “Thanks for cleaning up.” He came across eight emails from Sean Fowler, seven missed calls and one text that said, Call me asap.
“Anytime, but I will want sexual favors in return.” She informed him, as she threw him a grin over her shoulder. She plated up the eggs and bacon, dropped the plate on the table while shaking her head. “You eat Hilda’s offspring and still she loves you.” Her eyes found his, before she took in his handsome face and said, “I understand the appeal. Now eat.” She went for the coffee, poured him a mug and brought it over.
Hank chuckled, sat down at the table and shoved a piece of bacon in his mouth while looking at the small screen. He opened an email from Sean with the subject line that read, Shit, man, call me. Reading the message—Hank you need to look at this, buddy. We backtracked Harley Aldridge’s final days. This was the last place he was seen—it was accompanied by a link. He clicked on the link and it brought up video footage of a restaurant. Hank scooped up a bite of eggs and tossed them into his mouth as he watched patrons walking in and out of the restaurant, while servers tended
